Music Makes The Heart
by TheVulpineHero1
Summary: More experimental pony drabbles, focusing on Vinyl Scratch/DJ Pon3 and Octavia. This time with plot! R & R; all advice is welcome.
1. Dare

_-Dare-_

_(Gorillaz)_

* * *

><p>With a curt smile, DJ Pon3 looked Octavia straight in the eye, and removed her glasses. Without the violet lenses to hide it, her gaze betrayed her as a pony who was quietly, ruthlessly formidable. Behind those red eyes lay an unflinching soul.<p>

Octavia held the gaze. If there was one thing she was not afraid of, it was an audience.

"You're a good musician," Pon3 said quietly, and replaced her glasses. "I enjoyed your concert."

"You look better without the glasses," Octavia replied, walking away. She didn't like Pon3's tone.

Pon3 watched her go, and smiled. Worth looking into.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, the rub: 1) I haven't bothered to look at the fanon personalities to these two, so I'm just inventing wildly based on how they look and act. 2) These pieces are in chronological order- unlike most of my collections, I won't be zipping around the timeline. 3) Each piece will have 100 more words than the last. 4) As befits a musical couple, the prompts are all song titles (with the artist listed underneath. I've ignored the lyrics; only the titles are important). 5) This will probably be more plot driven than the rest of my drabble collections, rather than piquant character pieces. Enjoy!


	2. Get off Your High Horse Lady

_-(Get off Your) High Horse Lady-_

_(Oasis)_

* * *

><p>The night after, Octavia found her in the waiting room, reading a magazine. She looked relaxed. Complacent.<p>

"Miss Pon-three," she said, by way of greeting.

"Not without the glasses," Pon3 replied, and flashed a pair of red eyes. "Vinyl Scratch. You're a good musician."

Octavia narrowed her eyes. "So you said before."

"I'm better," Vinyl shrugged, and put down her magazine. It was a statement, not an opinion. "I look forward to beating you."

"My apologies, but you'll be waiting a while," Octavia glared. She'd never met with such arrogance.

"Not arrogance. Not until you prove me wrong," Scratch said easily. Her voice was like drifting smoke. Octavia almost forgot how very _prescient_ her answer was in the face of it.

"Very well. I accept your challenge, Vinyl Scratch. I shall not hear my art impugned," Octavia carried on, flaring her nostrils.

The unicorn fixed her with those red eyes again, but there was something different there. A little more effort. A little less contempt.

"...You're interesting," she murmured, and began to walk away. "Until next time."

Octavia watched her go with a glare. That pony had a talent for getting under her skin. But next time, she'd be ready.


	3. Bad Reputation

_-Bad Reputation-_

_(The Hit Girls [Kick Ass Soundtrack Version])_

* * *

><p>Octavia spent the next few days scouring the town for information. As it turned out, few ponies had heard of Vinyl Scratch, but DJ Pon3 was a name synonymous with scandal, with avant garde philosophies and some of the meanest beats on the audible spectrum. Despite her emerging fame as the hottest disk jockey on the circuit, Pon3 barely ever spoke; a semi-perceptible nod of her head was all she ever needed. Rumours had it that she'd been seen sharing smouldering kisses with both mares and stallions, sometimes no more than fifteen minutes apart, and the newspapers were often in uproar over her antagonism towards her fellow artists.<p>

The only pony who had any information of note on Vinyl Scratch was Pinkie Pie, who proudly proclaimed that she knew _everypony_ in Ponyville. Over a cup of tea and a suspiciously expensive slice of victoria sponge, Octavia extracted a few drops of information: she lived a little way outside of town, she largely kept to herself, and she didn't speak much. Beyond that, there was nothing useful, although Pinkie had a surprisingly vast wealth of information about the colour of the carpet in Scratch's upstairs bedroom.

After all her sleuthing, Octavia found herself little better than when she started. She still didn't know why Vinyl Scratch or Pon3 (or whatever she was calling herself) would single _her_ out for an after-concert ultimatum. It didn't make sense.

Despite all her intentions, Octavia found herself... _interested_ in this strange unicorn with the odd chip on her shoulder. There was the scent of mystery about the whole affair. What secrets were hidden behind those purple sunglasses? Why was 'Pon3' a media darling, whilst Vinyl Scratch was a relative outsider?

Octavia creased her brow as the questions multiplied. It was time for some field research.


	4. The Entertainer

_-The Entertainer-_

_(KT Tunstall)_

* * *

><p>A four-on-the-floor bass crash rippled through the scuffed wood of the dance floor and up into the legs of every pony stupid enough to get in its way. Four hundred horseshoes vibrated in sympathy before the next beat ripped from the speakers. It was all a pony could do to remain standing under the assault, and with each song it got louder, harder, faster. A blackness thicker than death reigned, lit only by a flotilla of glow sticks that danced and swayed like will o' the wisps. The atmosphere was slick with sweat and energy. The ponies danced as one, closer in the blackness than any of them would dare admit.<p>

Somewhere in the blackness, Octavia reeled. She'd never known anything like it, this pit of darkness and sound and motion. Far away were the concertos and the allegros of her everyday life, drowned in the relentless, pounding beat. The music engulfed her. There was no escaping it. It was too loud to think, too dark to see; all she could do was hear the in the air, and feel it in her feet. It was an immersion more total than she had ever experienced before, and it left her halfway between fear and euphoria. She looked around wildly for her quarry, before she was swept away.

At her decks, raised above the dancers on a platform illuminated by a flickering strobe pulse, legs sore and hooves scratched, DJ Pon3 worked her turntable with a fury unknown by ponykind. This was the culmination of her career, the moment when she straddled that fine line between art, science and madness. Every note was pefect, every distortion burnt the mind. What could she do but ride the wave of creation, a mad scientist cackling at her workbench? This was living. This was truth. She allowed the beat to drop, and then the song began again. It all repeated, in the end.

* * *

><p>Octavia found her after the show. Midnight had passed; the moon winked down from on high.<p>

"I told you," Pon3 said, voice as calm and smoky as always. "I'm better."

Octavia said nothing. There was nothing to say.

"Come with me. You can't walk home by yourself at night," the DJ said, removing her glasses. Octavia nodded dumbly. She had forgotten her grace.

"So," Vinyl Scratch asked, a smoky laugh on the edge of her tongue, "did you enjoy it?

* * *

><p>AN: So. Has anyone figured out that I have absolutely no idea how to write Octavia yet?


	5. M issundazstood

_-M!issundazstood-_

_-P!nk-_

* * *

><p>Red eyes through violet lenses peered at the sleeping earth pony on the bed. DJ Pon3 didn't remove her glasses. Didn't intend to. This time, she needed the confidence, the shield her fame provided. Or would she? It was up to Octavia- gentle Octavia, sleeping peacefully past the broken noon. Graceful Octavia, splay-legged on the sheets.<p>

Behind her glasses, DJ Pon3 grinned.

She didn't know what had kicked it all off. She'd never heard of Octavia before they first met and she took her glasses off to peer into her eyes (a privilege afforded to precious few). No reason to antagonise her. But where knowledge faltered, instinct took over; just like in music, all she had to do was match the beat. She'd been...pleased. To meet one who didn't shy away, who didn't lash out, but who just stood firm and prideful. And then, that response.

_You look better with the glasses off._

It was the first time she'd heard it. Brave, but controlled. She liked it. She liked _her_. They were good words. Good words were hard to find.

Octavia stirred, and Pon3 put her thoughts to the back of her head. Settled for analysing every movement.

The earth pony stretched the clumsy, comfortable stretch of the newly awoken. A moment's pause, a realisation. Slight panic at surroundings she wasn't familiar with. A flit across the face of sudden recollection, of annoyance at a debt unpaid. A twitch of the ear, and then a sudden feeling of being watched; a wide-eyed stare, straight into her glasses. Unflinching.

"Good afternoon," Pon3 smiled. "You slept well."

Octavia waited before answering. Took her time to bounce between anger and manners, decided on a compromise. Fascinating.

"Yes, I did, thank you. Your concert was...was..." Octavia said, and struggled visibly for words. "Admirable."

Admirable. Good words again. The more she heard, the more she liked. Polite, but unwilling to admit defeat. Determined, that was the word.

"Well? Say something. Anything. Enough mind games, Scratch," Octavia said after a few moments of silence. She sounded tired.

Pon3 took off her glasses, and became Vinyl Scratch once more. The wildness left her, and the quiet, retiring pony with the smoky voice returned.

"You really think I look better with the glasses off?" she asked. Stress on the really, stress on the off. She spoke in beats and rhythms, and the words weren't so hard to find.

"Of course," Octavia shrugged. "You have magnificent eyes."

_She has no idea_, Scratch thought. _She said it like it was nothing at all. _It was guileless, motiveless. Blind good will. Amazing.

"Was that all you wanted? If so, I'll be going. I need to practice," Octavia carried on, and looked her square in the eye, jaw set. "I've no intention of losing to you, Miss Scratch."

"Wait," Scratch said, sharply. Almost urgently.

"Yes?"

"You're a good musician," she smiled, calm and smoky. "I like you. Octavia."

Octavia returned her smile. But, somehow, she wasn't sure it was a _good_ thing.

* * *

><p>AN: And still, I flail with Octavia's characterisation. Derp.


	6. The Heart Asks Pleasure First

_-The Heart Asks Pleasure First/The Promise-_

_(Composer: Nyman, from the film 'The Piano')_

* * *

><p>"Four," Vinyl Scratch intoned dully, lounging on the cracked leatherette couch with a magazine held loosely under one hoof. "I'm disappointed."<p>

"Your manners haven't improved since yesterday, I see. Normally, a friend would congratulate me on a successful concert, not point out that I hit four bum notes. That I recovered from, might I add," Octavia sniffed, setting about the maintenance of her bow.

"You hit four bum notes. You want friends who lie and say you didn't?" Vinyl asked, an eyebrow raised.

Octavia put her bow gently back into the separate case she reserved for it (if nothing else, she had respect for her instruments) and shut it. "I would like friends who explained to the guards why they need so desperately to wait backstage for me every evening, yes. Security is beginning to grow concerned that you're a stalker."

Vinyl grinned and said nothing. Octavia groaned.

"Come, then. We can discuss my failings over an evening meal, if you're so inclined. A perfect performance is best achieved on a full stomach, my mother used to say."

"Your mother's smart," Scratch replied, and followed her.

The night-time corner café was full of its usual clientèle; the bohemian, the eccentric, the desperate saxophonist pony who busked there night after night and barely made enough to put food in her mouth. Octavia gave her a friendly nod and five bits as she walked in; Vinyl stopped stock still and listened intently for a whole song, her eyes oddly unfocused. The saxophonist, used to somewhat dotty listeners, paid her little mind.

"You're good. Not as good as her," Scratch said, and motioned to Octavia, "but good."

Before emptying her entire purse into the saxophonist's hat.

Octavia widened her eyes, but the saxophonist's reaction was to almost faint. As Octavia duly noted, that purse had been _very_ full. Vinyl grinned at her with but a bare hint of sheepishness, before saying, "Pay for me."

After two salads had been delivered to the their table (out of Octavia's less-than-full pocket), they ate in silence; finally, Vinyl Scratch spoke.

"You're mad at me."

"Not mad. Just...perturbed. You are an awful lot of trouble for a friend I've only recently met. Usually, the way of it is to cement a friendship before calling for monetary favours. And my pay is not so great that I can afford to treat you often," Octavia pointed out, although she wasn't really sure why she was doing it. This fashion of talk seemed pointless when directed at Scratch.

"Money's no good. Can't eat it, can't make good music with it, can't talk to it," Vinyl began, and stopped suddenly. In decidedly cautious tones, she added, "I'll pay you back."

Octavia raised an eyebrow, impressed. It was certainly a starting point, if not a full recompense for Vinyl's erratic habits. "Thank you."

"You hit four bum notes," Scratch carried on, changing the subject in the blink of an eye. "You were distracted. Explain."

Octavia groaned once more. "I saw your glasses glinting in the audience. And again when you made your way backstage."

"I distract you?" Scratch asked, and seemed to be wrestling with an internal dilemma. "...Should I stop coming?"

"That wasn't what I meant."

A moment passed; Vinyl seemed deep in though. Octavia took the time to wipe her mouth primly with a hankerchief.

"Come to my house tomorrow. I'll train you to not be distracted by me," Scratch said finally.

"No," Octavia said softly, and didn't know why. She didn't feel ready yet.

"I see," Vinyl Scratch sighed, and it came out heavy and soft. "I see."

* * *

><p>AN: Took a little time with this one, and tried to get Octavia with at least _some_ characterisation. I feel a bit better about it now, so I'll probably throw off my funk and continue this shortly.


	7. The Motive Living Without You

_-The Motive (Living without you)-_

_(Then Jericho)_

* * *

><p>The next day, there was no violet glint in the concert audience.<p>

Despite her initial relief at not having to think about Vinyl during a performance (she didn't hit any bum notes, although the performance was otherwise unremarkable), Octavia felt a little concerned. Vinyl had been attending her concerts almost religiously as of late; the unicorn's obvious disappointment last night cast her absence in a bad light. She went to the café in hopes for clues that night, to find the saxophonist gone and no sign of her friend; she ate alone, and was the worse for it.

The next day, Vinyl Scratch had still neglected to make an appearance. The concert hall security (all of one earth pony) asked Octavia if she'd had a fight with 'her strange friend'.

"Of course not," Octavia snapped brusquely, somehow annoyed at his choice of description (even though strange was probably the word she would have picked, too).

On the third day without Vinyl, Octavia began to worry. The unicorn was almost unpredictable; what if she'd reacted more drastically to rejection than expected? Octavia hadn't meant to _offend _her; it was just that she still had pride, even if only a little, and she wasn't going to be tutored by a pony she had declared she would beat.

On the fourth day, she couldn't focus on playing at all. She missed more notes than she felt comfortable counting, and the maestro took her to one side and asked her very gently if she would perhaps like to take a few days off instead of playing in the big concert that weekend. In between assuring him that she was fine, Octavia decided that this was no longer a problem she could ignore.

"Come, Octavia. You're clearly not yourself. Take a day, maybe two to yourself, and come back rejuvenated," he said, before adding guiltily, "...At this rate, I simply cannot allow you to play for the patrons. This weekend is one of the most important concerts for the entire year; our name is made and broken by these opportunities."

"I understand," she replied, a little curtly. "And you'll assess whether I can take part after an enforced bedrest, correct?"

"Yes. Normally, I would cut you here and now, but...you really are one of our best, usually. Please, take the rest," he urged, and she found herself nodding. A day or two without concerts gave her time to go and fix whatever mistake she'd made with Vinyl.

The next day, at six am, Octavia found herself standing outside Vinyl's house, stomping and shivering (for it was a cold morning for this time of year) and rapping her hooves on the door. After a half-hour with no response, she gave up, and began searching for her friend in town.

When the sun hit high noon, she finally stopped her investigations to rest. In six hours, she had learned nothing, and found nopony. It seemed she wasn't cut out for life as a private detective. Quietly, she slunk back to the side café which was still missing its saxophonist, and ate a solitary lunch. However, luck was with her.

"Have you heard? They say that DJ Pon3 is playing again tonight. That's four nights in a row. Usually, she scarcely plays three times in a month!" a passing stallion chattered to his friend. Octavia sighed audibly. Only one thing for it.

* * *

><p>"Five", she said in greeting, as Pon3 came backstage. "Five missed beats."<p>

"Oh," Pon3 said, and lowered her glasses. "I never did pay you back for the meal."

"It's not about that. Why did you stop coming? Did I insult you?" Octavia asked.

"I distract you. You make better music if I'm not there," Pon3 replied.

"And? What's the point of good music without anypony to appreciate it?" Octavia asked. "I missed you."

The backstage was empty, but felt crowded; the air was still.

"...I see," DJ Pon3 said finally, and removed her glasses.

"Tomorrow, I shall visit you at your house, and you may teach me how not to be distracted. If you've no objections," Octavia smiled.

"None," Vinyl Scratch said coolly. But when she nonchalantly wiped her eyes, her hoof came away wet.

* * *

><p>AN: Phew. I had trouble fitting this into 700 words...Really, I could do with an extra hundred or so here to polish up that ending. I didn't really have enough to establish any real sense of setting; I hate floating dialogue like that, but I like stuff elsewhere too much to cut.


	8. Strangelove Blind Mix

_-Strangelove (Blind Mix)-_

_(Remix by Daniel Miller & Rico Conning, original by Depeche Mode)_

* * *

><p>Octavia whistled as she walked, the sun rising behind her into a cloudy sky the colour of milk. It was her second day away from the music hall, and she felt almost guilty that she hadn't held a bow in all that time; however, knowing Scratch, today would be nothing but intensive practice. She looked forward to it.<p>

Vinyl's house was impressive, although far from lovely. It was larger than a single pony needed, but no so large that it attracted attention, and the walls were the dirty white of sea-gull's wings (and would have matched the lustre of Vinyl's own flanks, had they been washed). There was no doorbell, which struck Octavia as odd; a bell was, after all, an instrument, and Vinyl was all about music.

"You're here," Vinyl said by way of greeting after a few raps on the door, revealing perhaps the worst case of bed-head ever to hit Ponyville. It seemed Equestria's premier DJ was not a morning pony.

"Really? Didn't notice. Good to see you, by the way," Octavia smiled wryly. Vinyl looked unimpressed. "I've asked a friend if they will deliver my instrument. It should arrive within the hour."

"No need. I have an old cello you can use," Vinyl said, disappearing into her house. Octavia rolled her eyes, and followed at what she assumed was a safe distance.

Vinyl lead her upstairs (three at a time), and through a dusty hallway to 'the music room'. It was not a misnomer.

"I wasn't aware you were classically trained," Octavia told her, casting her eye over a collection of cellos, clarinets, kettle drums; all types of instruments.

"Because I'm a DJ?" Vinyl asked with an arched eyebrow. "Music is music."

Octavia nodded, a little impressed; to say a violin and a synthesiser were equal was one thing, but to believe it another thing entirely- and she had no doubt that Scratch believed. Threading her way through the instruments, she took up the cello Vinyl pointed her to; it was well used, but exquisitely taken care of, and had clearly cost somepony a lot of money.

She took it up, and the bow she found with it. "Well, then!" she called. "How are we to practice ignoring distractions? I place myself in your hooves, miss Scratch."

Vinyl sat down, slowly, and said, in her very smokiest of voices, "Play for me, Octavia. Then we'll see."

So she played, as naturally as she knew how; a minuet that became a sonata, a bolero that became a ballad, a vast, meandering cascade of notes and feelings, not all of which she noticed, and not all of which she understood. Vinyl watched her with the same, half-focused gaze with which she favoured the saxophonist. Eventually, she stood, and signalled silently that the piece was to end. It did, with a trembling flourish; to grandstand in the midst of those silent instruments seemed somehow sacrilegious.

A raised hoof, and the performance began again; but this time the unicorn stalked, a predator, through the scattered musician's tools. She came so close that Octavia's skin prickled, and she felt the cold electricity of fear descend upon her, for Vinyl's red eyes now held a curious spell. Then, she retreated, like a snake before a charmer; and it began again.

Closer, then a retreat; a careful, four-hooved waltz was the dance Vinyl chose. In, out, in, out; then, inevitably, the retreat did not come. She tasted warmly of dry ice and fresh cut daisies.

A procession of angry, discordant notes broke the spell.

"You kissed me," Octavia accused, quiet, almost in awe. "You kissed me."

Vinyl sat down at the other side of the room once more. "You got distracted."

"But you kissed me!" Higher pitched, almost as terrible as those last, broken notes; they both winced.

"You can leave if you like," Vinyl replied, and her voice, hard and steady as iron, betrayed her nervousness. "If not, please begin again."

Octavia tried, then, to remember the kiss that had been stolen from her. What was it she had thought? What had she felt? But it was already lost, nothing but a half-second's sensation on the lips.

Vinyl, taking her silence for a refusal, stood and sighed, and for the briefest moment, Octavia saw her legs tremble. Somehow, that was all she needed; to see that her fear was not just her own.

There was much in the world that Octavia did not understand, that made her tremble, that made her weep. But music was something she did understand. For good or for ill, she began to play. So Vinyl Scratch again waltzed the waltzed of the uncertain, retreating as if unsure, drawing closer as if to gathering courage.

But when she finally came close enough to taste, Octavia's music remained unbroken.

* * *

><p>AN: Gah. I had some problems with this chapter. Once again, I could really have done with an extra 100 words here; it's odd in that I can fit an entire story into 100 words, but give me 800 and I can't do a thing with 'em. That, and my raging desire to pastiche my latest stylistic influence meant I started wanting to do paragraphs of description. Still, hopefully I got the kind of surreal feel I was hoping for here.


	9. The Game Has Changed

_-The Game Has Changed-_

_(Daft Punk, from the Tron Legacy soundtrack)_

* * *

><p>"Octavia. You're quiet," Vinyl said, and so she was; the earth pony had hardly spoken since their practice session ended.<p>

"I'm just...ah. I'm trying to figure out what I'm feeling, Vinyl," she replied, a hoof to her forehead.

"Good luck," Vinyl snorted brusquely. "But your tea's getting cold."

They were sat in Vinyl's kitchen, which Octavia privately thought looked as though an Ursa Major had crashed into it; she had honestly been surprised when Vinyl had been able to pull out two unbroken (although quite dusty) teacups. They sat opposite each other at the table, tête-à-tête, and whenever Octavia glanced upwards her eyes seemed to settle on Vinyl's lips all of their own accord.

"...Okay, let's take it from the top. I need to know a few things, Vinyl."

The unicorn gave a brief shrug- _go on, then-_ and continued to sip her tea.

"First," Octavia said, and stopped, disliking the helpless tone her voice had taken. She marshalled it back into fighting form; added a note of aggression, of impatience. "Why did you kiss me in the music room? For training, or was there something...well, more?"

A moment's hesitation.

"...Pretend I gave you the answer you want most," Vinyl said quietly, and stirred another sugar cube into her tea. "What then?"

Octavia felt like screaming. Now was _not_ the time for mind games. But then she noticed Vinyl staring at her discreetly, with those baleful red eyes, as if daring her to call the bluff; it put her in mind of the way she'd moved in the music room. Half fearful, half yearning.

She took a deep breath, gathered her calm. Made her voice firm and masterful. "The answer I want most, Vinyl, is the one that's true. So tell me what it is."

The unicorn took a deep sip of her tea. Almost as though preparing herself, Octavia thought.

"...You're a good musician," Vinyl said finally, like the air escaping from a balloon.

_For training, then,_ the earth pony thought; but the answer didn't help any. Her emotions were still jumbled; it was at once a relief and a disappointment. She didn't want to think about what that meant.

"But...I _like_ you. Octavia."

Suddenly, she had to.

"You _like_ me? A-As in, Romareo and Muleiet _like_?" Octavia asked, her eyes wide.

Vinyl said nothing, but stirred one more sugar cube into her tea.

"I, ah. That is to say. Well. Um. I didn't expect this," she hedged, flustered. "I don't know what to say, Vinyl."

Vinyl didn't say anything, continued to stir her drink. It was almost like a nervous habit. Exactly like a nervous habit. Octavia frowned.

"...I was wrong. I did it _all_ wrong. I ruined it," Vinyl said heavily after a while, an odd half-smile floating across her mouth. She closed her eyes, and said dreamily, as if to herself: "Wrong tempo."

"...Vinyl?"

The unicorn stood up; the haze of magic around her spoon ceased. "Sorry. For kissing you. I shouldn't have," she said, and her eyes never met Octavia's.

"Now, Vinyl-"

"..At least the training went well. I want to keep coming to your concerts, at least."

_Crash._ Octavia brought her hoof down abruptly on the table. "Oh, _do _shut up, Vinyl. If _this_ is how you behave when you think you've made a mistake, I'm almost _glad_ you're _arrogant_ enough to think you don't make them."

Vinyl met her eyes then, and found them violet and flashing with what approached full-fledged anger.

"Now, if you weren't quite so busy wallowing in unwarranted self-pity, you would have realised that at no point did I say I wasn't _interested-_ merely that I didn't _know_ if I like you in the same way you claim to like me. But mark my words, Vinyl Scratch, I intend to find out," Octavia barked with military speed.

"...You're angry at me," Vinyl replied, as if in wonder.

"Yes, I am, because for somepony who likes me enough to kiss me when I'm unawares, you're awfully quick to give up on winning my affections," Octavia glared. "And besides, a _good_ musician learnsfrom her mistakes, as opposed to mourning them."

"...I was scared that you didn't like me," Vinyl said slowly, looking at the floor.

"Oh, boo-hoo. I'm scared of dragons, but I don't just lay down and die when I see one. Good grief...Whatever am I to do with you?" Octavia replied more gently, shaking her head.

"...I wonder," Vinyl replied, because silence was oppressive when the distance between them was so small. "So. Are we..?"

"Yes. Provisionally, you understand," she replied. "I must admit...I'm not used to this sort of situation."

"Dating a mare?" Vinyl asked, eyebrow arched.

"Indeed," Octavia nodded, although more truthfully it was dating in general. Contrary to popular opinion, the music hall was not exactly a hotbed of romance.

"...Get used to it, I guess," Vinyl shrugged, and took a sip of her forgotten tea.

**_Now_**_ she acts cool,_ Octavia thought, and rolled her eyes. She was interrupted by Vinyl spraying tea all over the table.

"...How much sugar did I put in that, anyway?" Scratch grumbled. Octavia giggled. She wasn't so cool, after all.

* * *

><p>Outside, a grey stallion whistled, standing beside Octavia's cello. He was pretty sure this was the right address, but he'd knocked on the door and heard nothing.<p>

He didn't know it, but he was in for a long wait.

* * *

><p>AN: Hide yo kids, hide you wife, Octavia is on the warpath! Also, no, I didn't forget about the random friend from last chapter.

On a side note: originally, this collection was going to be ten pieces long in total. But honestly, I think there's more than one chapter left in this, and I'm actually getting quite invested in the characters that I have going for Vinyl (and even Octavia, to a degree.) And, so help me, I shall have at least one story with a plot that concludes to my liking. So, I'll keep this going until it feels ended. You can (not) thank me later.  
>(Also, a clarification my friend asked me to put in: the song title chapter names are from songs taken from my music library. If you want to judge my taste in music, feel free, but it'll be disregarded.)<p> 


	10. Cheap Sunglasses

_-Cheap Sunglasses-_

_(ZZ Top)_

* * *

><p>"Bravo, Octavia! Back up to your usual magnificence, and in the nick of time, too!" the maestro gushed as the crowd filtered out. The concert had been a success, in as much as no notes were missed. "But the real test begins tomorrow, when the <em>rich<em> patrons attend. I expect you all to be at your best. Dismissed!"

"Your weird friend is waiting for you. Good to see you made up," the security guard smiled as Octavia walked backstage.

"She's not weird, but thank you," she replied, and prepared herself to be confused. It seemed the safest option.

DJ Pon3 was waiting for her, violet glasses perched on her nose, flicking idly through a glossy magazine for bored housemares. It seemed she was halfway through a couple's quiz and had gotten stuck.

"You played well," the unicorn commented, discretely stowing the magazine away. "Not amazing, but good."

"High praise indeed. Where shall we go?"

"The Café," Pon3 said, with no further justification.

It felt strange to be walking alongside her in the cold night air. Octavia felt very conscious of the distance between them, very aware of when they moved closer or further away. She also noticed how Vinyl walked differently when she had her glasses on; there was a feel of the stage around her, a showy confidence that one couldn't help but admire.

Upon reaching the café they found that the saxophonist had returned, with a new, shiny saxophone. It could hardly be exaggerated how much the sound had improved, and Octavia found herself agreeing with Vinyl's initial judgement- the pony could play.

"Thank you for paying," Octavia said as they sat down. She could hear the name Pon3 being whispered around her. It seemed they had drawn attention to themselves.

"I still owed you a meal," Vinyl said, and lifted her glasses. She thought for a moment, before adding, "I mean, no problem. This is, uh, a date after all."

"Oh, it is, is it? Thank you for warning me. I shall have to be on my best behaviour," Octavia teased, and Vinyl put her glasses back on. The murmurs increased.

They ordered; a fresh, green salad for her, and a plate of daisies for Vinyl. Not for the first time, she was struck by how very simple the unicorn's tastes were.

"Octavia. What are your life goals?" Vinyl asked abruptly. Octavia raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, I don't know. To have a nice house?"

"...I've got a nice house, so that sort've includes me...Three points?" Vinyl said to herself, very, very quietly. She appeared to have forgotten she was dealing with a trained classical musician who had hearing to match.

Octavia rolled her eyes. A couple's quiz, indeed. Privately (very privately) she thought it was a little cute how helpless the unicorn was; but cute did not a relationship make.

"Now I get to ask you a question," she said. Vinyl's ears pricked up. She took a deep breath, and decided to go for the hard things first. "How does Pinkie Pie know the colour of the carpet in your bedroom?"

Vinyl snorted. "She worked for it."

"By which you mean?" Octavia prompted, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that was dragging her heart quickly to her knees.

"She entered through the laundry hamper, and exited through a third floor window," Vinyl said smokily, and lowered her menu slightly. "If that isn't working for it..."

"Oh, I see. I was a little worried. I heard you'd kissed many a mare."

Vinyl went very suddenly and noticeably still. "So. You heard about that."

"You have?" Octavia asked, willing her voice to be calm, to be reasonable. It wasn't that she was attached to the relationship. Too early for that. But the thought that she was just one of a long line?

"No," Vinyl hedged, before adding, "I had my glasses on. Part of the act. Of the persona."

Octavia fought the urge to press her hoof to her head. Again with the glasses.

"So, you only kissed them because you had your glasses on?" she asked, and Vinyl nodded, perhaps a little anxiously. A waiter was surprised when the cup of tea they were carrying began to stir itself. "So, you don't mind if I, perhaps, borrow those glasses?"

"I need them," Vinyl said, low and fierce. "I get...nervous."

"So you hide behind a pair of glasses?"

Vinyl raised her menu again, and stayed silent. Octavia sighed. She honestly wondered if it was worth the effort.

* * *

><p>"Octavia," Vinyl called, and it would have been a shout had it been any louder.<p>

Her bow clutched in her fetlock, Octavia chastised her viciously. What was she doing backstage _before_ a performance? After was fine, after was good, but before gave her the jitters and they both knew where that led-

She was interrupted when the world turned violet.

"I have a condition," Vinyl said, peering at the glasses with something approaching longing. It'd been years since she'd been without them.

"Go on," Octavia encouraged, a little softer than she usually would.

"This concert. I'll be in the audience. So," and she broke off, to nudge her temple as she would do when adjusting her glasses, "Play like you would to a lover."

"But we're not lovers," Octavia pointed out.

The look Vinyl gave her in return suggested a great many things, most of which were _very_ interesting and which you would hesitate to talk about within earshot of your mother, but the most salient of which was 'Octavia, you are an idiot, in the best possible way.'

Octavia looked at the unicorn through purple lenses, and found her a little smaller, a little more melancholy than before. Purple was not a colour that cheered up the world. She felt sorry, although for what she didn't know.

The final calls were made, and she silently dashed off to take her position. Her bow was a little shaky.

_Good_, she thought as the curtain rose. _Nothing says love like vibrato._

* * *

><p>AN: And once again, I could've done with another 100 words or so. Seems I'm running a chapter in advance of where I want to be, in terms of romance. This was the nitty-gritty beginning of a relationship, part two: dating history. Gotta happen sometime, folks.

On a sidenote: This was ready on easter, but I waylaid posting it, because I though to myself, 'Be realistic, kid. Who's going to waste time reading your junk on Easter Sunday?' So, you get it today. I hope you all have a good holiday!


	11. Let Them Talk

_-Let Them Talk_-

_(Hugh Laurie)_

* * *

><p>For perhaps only the third time in her life, Octavia felt she'd provided a concert to be remembered. Certainly, the audience were talking about it. Nothing good, but they were talking. As she'd played, two hundred snooty eyebrows had been raised, and a great many of them had not yet deigned to descend to their rightful places; it was a stir, if nothing else. As the maestro tried desperately to manage the outrage of the patrons, she retreated backstage, as did most of the musicians (giving her dirty looks as they did).<p>

"You're crazy," Vinyl greeted her coolly, although she was all but glowing. "I didn't think you'd wear them on stage."

Octavia raised her hoof self-consciously to the glasses, pushed them a little further up her nose. They kept slipping. Not surprisingly, given the nervous sweat she'd broken out into. Still, she couldn't help grinning; she wondered if this was how an athlete felt after winning a race.

"I didn't think you'd give them to me, in all honesty," she replied after a second's worth of thought. "How was the concert?"

"Worst I've ever seen. You were fantastic. Made the rest of the orchestra look like idiots," Vinyl smirked, and took a quick step forwards before she caught herself; a less reserved pony would have broken into a skip.

"Oho. I wondered why the audience were chattering so. Well, I've no doubt the maestro would like to have some words with me, so why don't we escape before he gets around to it?"

Giggling, she led the way, dodging adroitly between the dazed music hall staff who were trying to figure out what had gone so drastically wrong. Vinyl followed her hoofstep for hoofstep, never more than a quarter second behind her, until they finally burst from the softly lit building into the cool, fresh night air. Even from the side exit, they could hear the hum of voices declaiming 'that upstart pony in the purple glasses'; cautiously, they skirted around the building to the back, to lie low until the crowds had dispersed. Up above them, the stars were already peering out curiously from the blanket of the night sky.

There, Octavia gave herself over to a great, shuddering bout of laughter, the first she'd had in a long while. There wasn't much opportunity to laugh, in the bowstring-tight atmosphere of a struggling music hall. Wasn't much room to improvise, either; unity across the orchestra was paramount. She hadn't realised it, but she was sick of keying her own musical aspirations to those of everyone around her, of being afraid to experiment and grow faster than her friends.

She remembered, then, when she first held the cello, the way the golden sound escaped from it and enveloped her, comforted her in her hour of need. Her father had disappeared the week before; he'd been a wayward musician that charmed her mother's innocent tastes. Music, when she first found it, had been a comfort, a friend. Only later did it become work, effort, toil, a job.

Vinyl watched her, with a smile as opposed to a smirk. Every few seconds, she would take an agitated step forward, a nervous canter to the side, as if she might break into dance or song.

Eventually, her laughter broke, and Octavia wiped her her eyes with the back of her hoof. "Oh, Vinyl, you have gotten me into some trouble. However will I introduce you to my mother?"

"I could say the same to you," Vinyl said huskily, and sat down beside her.

"Oh? Why, am I not respectable enough to meet your parents?" Octavia teased gently.

"Other way around," Vinyl smirked, and let it drop. "You look like an idiot in those glasses."

"Like you didn't."

"Usually, people say I look scary without them. Red eyes, take warning," Vinyl replied, and Octavia could just hear the note of wistfulness there. The night breeze trickled down her back, and she realised how cold it was.

Quietly (and with not a little nervousness), she leaned closer to Vinyl, to her warmth. She was gratified when after a moment, Vinyl leaned back.

"I always wondered why you were so concerned about these," the earth pony said, and lifted the glasses up to rest on her forehead. "I really didn't think you'd give them to me."

"I wasn't going to. But I remembered," Vinyl sighed, and Octavia, pressed into her side, felt her deflate as she did. "When I left to stop distracting you, you came looking for me."

"Go on," Octavia urged when she felt her stop, sensed the words drying up on the tip of Vinyl's tongue.

"...To give my glasses away was a risk. But, I thought, maybe for you, it was worth it," the unicorn went, and if it weren't so very dark, Octavia could have sworn she saw the first little tinges of a blush. She pressed herself a little closer; Vinyl was warmer than she had expected her to be.

"About the 'lovers' thing," she began after a moment, and felt Vinyl rearranged herself nervously.

"I meant to say girlfriend. It came out wrong."

"I was thinking, that, well...That is to say...It might not be so bad. Give it a while, and we might see."

"You're blushing," Vinyl told her coolly. She was smiling.

"So are you!" Octavia pouted.

"And?"

Octavia sighed and shook her head. She didn't move away. When she was a filly, she hadn't even expected to date another mare, never mind one so exasperating. But all the best things in life- whether it was cooking, reading, or music- needed a little work, a little understanding. And, of course, to be played by ear once in a while. Life's boring when you can't deviate from the notes on the sheet.

"Octavia?" Vinyl said after a while.

"Yes?" she replied, and felt her eyelids droop. She was beginning to feel sleepy.

"I've never heard you laugh like that before. You sounded really...goofy," Vinyl said. "I really liked it."

"One of these days, Vinyl Scratch, I shall teach you how to give a compliment without sounding like a jerk, and you will thank me for it," she replied, and put her head on Vinyl's shoulder. "Just you wait."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Octavia! Nice performance yesterday. Maestro wants to see you. Oh! And you brought your weird friend!" the security guard greeted.<p>

"She's not weird, and she's not my friend," Octavia smiled.

"We're partners," Vinyl finished smokily, walking a few steps behind her. "But thanks. I was impressed with her, too."

He watched them go, and shrugged. He should've known.

* * *

><p>AN: Another chapter, and another chapter in which I have fun but nothing happens. Of course, Octavia's introduction to music is purely fan theory; I don't _think_ her parents have been featured in the show as of yet, so it's not jossed yet. (Probably will be.) Hope you all enjoyed!

Also, I'm pondering what to do after this is finished. I'm toying with the idea of either a RainbowPie oneshot, or another drabble collection featuring AJ and Rarity this time. Eventually I'll decide, but if anyone's got any opinions, feel free to let me know.


	12. All The Roadrunning

_-All The Roadrunning-_

_(Dire Straits; Emmylou Harris; Mark Knopfler)_

* * *

><p>The sun had already passed its zenith when Octavia woke to a house that was surprisingly empty, surprisingly dull. She didn't live a lavish existence, didn't collect fritter away her savings on oakwood end-tables or mahogany-backed mirrors. What furniture she had was simple, hard-wearing, and had been worn hard accordingly. On the top of her dressing-table, touched slightly by the afternoon sun, lay an unfinished letter of- what? Resignation? Protest? Apology? It seemed to veer from one to the other. She groaned even to think of it, rolled over to lay on her back and quiz the ceiling.<p>

The situation, as it was- banished from the orchestra. On remand, technically, sitting out as penance for the crime of actually playing her best for once. Awaiting judgement at the end of a two-week decision making period, her fate held in the uncertain hooves of the board of directors- a board of directors still furiously trying to manage the damage she had caused. She had left the house to buy food, and to make some pitiful efforts at trimming her garden; that was all.

Very distantly, muffled by the closed windows, she could hear the sound of somepony hammering at her door.

"Octavia?" Vinyl's voice said, drifting at the very edge of the audible range. "Octavia? _Tavi?_ We need to talk."

Grudgingly, she dragged herself from her bed and downstairs, nearly knocking over one of her flowerpots as she did so, and opened the door. Vinyl marched in without greeting, swept the room with her eyes. She was carrying saddlebags.

"Hello to you, too, Vinyl. How have you been?" Octavia yawned, all politeness and no content. Vinyl shot her a look, took in her appearance; her eyes were narrowed, flashing, calculating.

"Occupied. Making sure you still have a job at the end of next week. Your maestro's an _idiot_," Vinyl seethed, before scouring the room again and tossing her head at the collection of bottles on the kitchen counter. "How much did you _drink?_"

Octavia cast her mind back; the second day, crushing unemployment. A few bottles of wine along with her normal groceries, bought with her last paycheck. Peaceful blackness. "As much as I wanted to, and not a drop less," she hedged for lack of anything better. "I'm a grown mare, anyway. I can do as I like. What's this you say about the maestro?"

"We had words," Vinyl said darkly. Octavia was struck by the thought of her, cool and ruthless, cutting the maestro apart with poorly formed sentences and barely concealed malice.

"And?"

"I told him that if he couldn't handle talent in _his_ orchestra, we'd find somepony who could. Read these," Vinyl said, and took out a bundle of paper from her bags. "I identified eleven places you'd do well in. Pick three to audition for."

Octavia scanned the paper, eyes growing wider with each page. "Canterlot, Fillydelphia, Manehattan...Vinyl, these are all in different towns! I know that needs must if it comes to it, but to just pack up and leave Ponyville? I don't want to abandon everything I've build up here."

"You won't. You'll do three auditions to spread your name and back up the story. Then next week I'll tell the maestro you've been offered a position at the Canterlot Harmonics. The maestro there went to the same school as yours, and they _despise_ each other. He's going to double your paycheck and whip the rest of the Ponyville orchestra into shape, just to spite Canterlot, and you're going to accept it and then play however you want," Vinyl said, shaking her head disdainfully as she rattled it off.

"We're manipulating him? But, Vinyl...That feels like cheating."

"Welcome to the music business," the unicorn snorted.

Just for a second, Octavia imagined a much younger Vinyl Scratch, extroverted, generous and wide-eyed, trying to make it on her own in the music industry.

"So. Do I get a thank you for saving your career?" Vinyl asked, her attention returning to the wine bottles. She was peering at the labels almost academically.

"Of course, Vinyl. I would kiss you, but I've got the most terrible morning breath. Why, pray tell, are you so interested in those wine bottles?" Octavia asked, looking a little more closely at the bundle of papers on the table.

"I like wine. Your taste is terrible," she said. "Invite me next time. I'll bring the good stuff."

"Oh, a connoisseur? Perhaps I should call you Vino. I'm afraid I was rather more interested in the quantity than the quality when I bought it," Octavia replied absently.

"You worried me. Shutting yourself up like this," Vinyl said quietly. Almost cautiously.

Octavia took a moment. Chewed over her thoughts. Honesty or tact, she wondered? How could she explain that, at first, she'd been angry- angry at herself for getting jealous and wanting those stupid glasses, angry at Vinyl for suggesting her 'condition' and ultimately getting her into this mess? But she wanted to avoid hurting her, since she'd gone to such lengths to fix the whole thing. Did she wanted to avoid that so badly that she would lie to her?

She realised, with a sinking feeling, that the answer was yes.

"Forgive me, Vinyl. I wasn't feeling myself. At least now you know how I felt when you pulled your little disappearing act."

"So I do," Vinyl shrugged. "Can I take a look around while you read? You've got a weird house."

"You mean 'interesting'. I see no harm in it, so long as you stay out of my bedroom. It's a little too much of a mess to warrant showing."

"That so? Fine," Vinyl said, and wandered off towards the stairs. A few seconds later, she came back wearing a smirk. "Just to warn you- if I ever get into your bedroom, I won't waste time looking at the carpet."

Octavia spluttered and felt her cheeks light up. "Very funny," she scowled. "Uncouth DJs these days..."

"Not as bad as boozy cellists," Vinyl finished. "...you look a bit more cheerful, anyway."

"So, the punishment for being gloomy is having to sit through your comedy routine?" Octavia snorted. "One of these days, Vinyl Scratch, I shall have to teach you how to make a joke without propositioning me."

"Not sure that's a skill I want to learn."

"Thanks, Vi. As bad as your jokes are, it's nice that you try," Octavia sighed.

"I'm 'Vi' now...? Fine by me. You finished picking?"

"Well...I probably _ought_ to at least try out for Canterlot, since that's where we say I'm going. Beyond that, I could stand a trip to Manehattan, and my mother lives near Fillydelphia. I'd like to visit," she replied.

"I'll be going with you, you know. Live-in manager."

"All the more reason to visit my mother, then. I can introduce you."

Vinyl looked at her doubtfully. "You're either brave, or crazy."

"Crazy, I expect," Octavia replied. "But that's never stopped anypony."

"Cool with me. I'll try not to wreck your mom's house," Vinyl said with a shrug, and drew a glass of water from the sink. "Drink this."

"Why?"

"Duh. To get rid of your morning breath," Vinyl replied. "I'm collecting on that kiss."

* * *

><p>AN: Had to end with a little fluffy moment there. HAD to.


End file.
